


A Game Of Hearts

by PocketSizedWolf



Series: The Lady Annabelle Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Murder, Mystery, Organized Crime, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketSizedWolf/pseuds/PocketSizedWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Series of Murders leave Sherlock stumped, so he calls in some help, much to the irritation of his brother. Rated M for future chapters. Jim Moriarty/Sherlock's Niece  Jim Moriarty/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stumped

"She was brought in this morning" Molly Hooper smiled as she watched the tall detective bend over the corpse of a young blonde. Her face had been clawed, her eyeballs removed, blood was matted into her hair. It made Molly feel slightly nauseated, but she dealt with this day after day. Now wasn't time to start getting squeamish.  
"Anderson thinks it's a case of domestic violence.." Lestrade said as he and John Watson made their way to Molly's side. Molly glanced at John who was biting his lower lip in a way that told Molly that he was thinking exactly what she was. What kind of monster could do this to someone?  
"Anderson is an idiot." Sherlock said simply, not at all phased by the appearance of the woman as he picked up her hand, inspecting it. "I've never seen a case of domestic violence in which a woman's fingernails were completely pulled off.." he raised the hand so they could all see. John winced.  
"She was found in Lambeth.." Lestrade continued, watching with a frown on his face as Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass, inspecting each of the bruises and the deep wound on the woman's head.  
"She was dead when this wound was made.." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, taking a folder from Molly without a word as he flicked through it. "Tetrodotoxin?" he frowned, looking up at the pathologist.  
"Yes, puncture wound in the neck.."  
"See, Lestrade. There's proof."  
"Proof?" Lestrade looked confused, glancing to John who merely shrugged "Proof of what?"  
"Proof that Anderson is an idiot."

"It's not often you're stumped.." John watched from his armchair as Sherlock paced. The Detective had his fingers pressed together in his usual way, but stopped at John's words. "I'm not stumped."  
"Yes. Yes you are. Three murders, Sherlock, and you still have no idea." the detective shook his head and continued pacing, moving towards the wall by the window, on which he'd started to stick things, notes and photographs, that would help him with the case.  
"I can't help but think there's a pattern.." he muttered to himself. "There's definitely a link.." he frowned, looking over the items.  
"Sherlock.. you need sleep.." John sighed, rubbing his eyes. The Detective had not slept since the day of the first murder. Five days later and John was sure that the lack of sleep was not helping his mind in the slightest. It certainly wasn't helping his temper.  
"Body one, found in Lambeth. Eyes removed... Body two, discovered on Regent Street. Tongue cut from her mouth... Body three, chained to the gate of the Admiralty Arch. Ears cut off.."  
"Yes, you've said.. Sherlock, you need to sleep."  
"No. I need help." John looked at his friend as the detective moved closer. He sighed.  
"No. Mycroft will kill you."  
"But I need her help"  
"You can't just drag her out of school again."  
"She hates school"  
"Sherlock!" John sighed, shaking his head. "Her education is important."  
Sherlock laughed "John, she knows everything they're teaching her al-" his sentence was cut off by Lestrade entering the room, a frown on his face.  
"There's been another."

Sherlock inspected the corpse with a constant frown upon his face. Molly Hooper was convinced this was the first time she'd seen him frown during a murder investigation. Usually he was bouncy, happy even. Murders meant his brain had something to do. Sherlock's eyes scanned the body, noting the lack of teeth in the dead man's mouth. Like the three previous murders, the fingernails had been completely removed.  
"Where was he found?" John asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.  
"Hanging from one of the capsules of the London Eye.." Lestrade replied as the two men watched Sherlock continuing his inspection. The detective finished up before moving towards the other two men.  
"John.." he started, but the doctor cut him off  
"Yes, alright, I'll call her." he sighed, pulling out his phone.  
"No, text. You know she won't speak."


	2. The Game Is On

Getting out of school and back to London was always so easy that she considered it dull, and yet, when that text message had arrived late in the evening, she knew she'd have to do it all again.  
 _Sherlock needs your help. -JW_

She'd packed quickly, throwing some basic things in her bag. She wouldn't need clothes. Sherlock kept emergency clothes for her in the bottom drawer of his dresser. All she needed was some money for the train, and a book for the journey.  
 _I'll be at King's Cross at 8.. -A x_  
she sent back, dropping her phone into her pocket.

At midnight, she slipped out of the private room that Mycroft had paid for, making her way swiftly towards the science labs, knowing she'd left one of the windows open. The trip downstairs was uneventful, and before she knew it, she was running along the road towards the train station.

"She's on her way.." John put his phone down on the arm of the chair, watching Sherlock as he studied his 'crime wall'.  
"Of course she is. She can never resist a crime scene." the corners of Sherlock's mouth curved into a grin.  
"You know you can't just get her out of school when ever you feel like it. Mycroft will have a heart attack when he finds out."  
Sherlock ignored John's words and brushed his fingers over the latest photo on his wall. There was a definite link, why wouldn't it form in his mind? He moved to his desk drawer, pulling out a nicotine patch and sticking it on to his arm, inhaling deeply.  
"What kind of person removes another's nose and fingernails?" John asked as he watched his flatmate. Sherlock shot him a look, one that told John to stop talking and leave the room. Sherlock needed to go to his mind palace. With a sigh, John rose from his seat and made his way out of the flat. He might as well go and pick her up from King's Cross.

She watched out of the window as London grew closer, her heart racing in excitement. She did love a good murder mystery. Exiting the train, she looked around, spotting John Watson in the crowd.

"Annabelle.. Safe journey?" he asked, knowing he was going to get no answer. Anna didn't speak much to anyone who wasn't Sherlock Holmes. She nodded in response to John's question, however, and followed him out of the station, and into a taxi that John had hailed down.

"Sherlock.." Anna grinned as she entered 221b, moving to quickly hug her uncle before pulling back. John entered not long afterwards, just in time to see the brief flicker of affection wash across Sherlock's face as he returned Annabelle's hug. She instantly moved towards his crime wall, her eyes flickering over the photographs and notes that Sherlock had scribbled on post-it's.  
"And you have no idea?" she asked, brushing her long brown hair from her face.  
"Some." Sherlock stiffened, looking down at his niece.  
"But not enough that you could work it out alone?"  
John chuckled softly, watching as Sherlock frowned. He did enjoy the way Sherlock's niece kept him on his toes.  
"Go on then, you have a go."  
Anna looked at the first photo, tilting her head. "Alright.. Tell me about it."  
John's phone rang, causing Sherlock to frown. John rolled his eyes with a nod, moving out of the room to answer it.  
"Body one, found in Lambeth. Eyes removed... Body two, discovered on Regent Street. Tongue cut from her mouth... Body three, chained to the gate of the Admiralty Arch. Ears cut off.. Body four, hanging from the London Eye. Nose missing... All four with fingernails pulled off"  
She nodded. "Where in Lambeth?"  
"Sherlock..." John re-entered, placing his phone into his pocket as he moved towards the two.  
"Not now John.. York Road.." he answered Anna's question, shooting a glare at his best friend.  
"Sherlock.. There's been another three."  
"Three?" Sherlock frowned, turning to look at John before moving to pull his coat on. "Then we'd better get to the morgue."

"This one was found in Trafalgar Square.." Lestrade spoke as Molly pulled back the sheet to reveal a pretty redhead with her voice box missing, her nails, like the other's, pulled off. Annabelle moved closer, and Lestrade, Molly and John were unable to hide their discomfort. The three of them had argued with Sherlock about the teen's presence in the morgue, feeling that what they were about to see would disturb her, but Sherlock knew his niece better than they did, and he knew she'd seen worse. Her eyes scanned over the woman's body, her fingers brushing over her own throat as she thought of the trauma the woman would have had to suffer to receive such injuries.

"The other two?" Sherlock asked, moving to the other two gurney, pulling back the sheets himself. On one lay a teenage boy, on the other an elderly woman.  
"He's missing his heart, she's missing her lungs.." Molly said as she moved closer, glancing down at the sheets she'd filled out mere minutes before the arrival of the consulting detective and his entourage.  
"Found in Monument and Russell Square respectively." Lestrade filled them in, before moving to the window of the room, glancing out on to the street below.  
Sherlock picked up Molly's note and scanned through them as Annabelle gave the bodies a closer inspection. Though much like her uncle in more ways than she cared to admit, she was not quite as closed off to her emotions, and she couldn't help but feel something as she looked down at the teenage boy. She was about to turn and speak to Sherlock when the doors to the morgue opened and another body was pushed through, DS Sally Donovan following it.  
"Found on Oxford Street" she said to Lestrade, before looking in Sherlock's direction. "Oh, should have known the freak would be here."  
The Consulting Detective didn't react, but merely moved towards the other body, but Annabelle shot the DS the angriest glare she could muster. Sherlock checked over the other body. Skull smashed open, brain removed, fingernails ripped off. He frowned. They were getting more frequent now.

Annabelle sat at Sherlock's desk, scribbling random letters onto pieces of paper as John and Sherlock sat in their armchairs, John typing away on his laptop, updating his blog, and Sherlock sat plucking the strings of his expensive violin, trying to jump-start his brain.

"That sounds horrible.." John commented for what was probably the hundredth time.  
"Helps me think.." Sherlock said simply, plucking another string loudly.  
"Does it though?" John looked at his friend who frowned, before returning to his sting plucking.

Anna couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange as she continued looking down at her piece of paper. The letters spelt nothing, they made no sense. Unless.. She frowned, pulling out another piece of paper, scribbling another few letters down.

"It only attracts the boring cases anyway.." Sherlock huffed, placing his violin on the floor.  
"It's your livelihood Sherlock.." John protested. Anna watched for a moment as the argument became a little more heated, each of them throwing stupid comments to one another, though it was obvious to her that they were both just wound up about the case.  
"Sherlock.." she sighed, standing up just as her uncle demanded that John 'stop forcing his opinions on the world'. He didn't say anything, but merely looked at her. "Who's Moriarty?"


	3. Case Is Cracked

The minute his name had spilled from her lips, Sherlock jumped up to check his niece's notes. At exactly the same time, however, two figures silently moved into the room, unnoticed by the trio.  
"Never you mind, Annabelle Holmes.." the voice caused them to freeze, and Anna glanced up, frowning. Her father and his PA stood before them, Anthea tapping away on her phone, barely looking up.  
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped, not looking at his brother, but focussed on the scribblings on the piece of paper.  
"I've come to take my daughter back to school where she belongs." Mycroft nodded to Anthea who put her phone away, moving to grab Anna by the arm and lead her down the stairs, into the car waiting outside. Sherlock frowned as he watched the scene.  
"She was only helping."  
"During term time. Honestly, Sherlock, you act like she's your daughter. Might I remind you that she isn't. She's mine, and I want her in school."  
"She hates school"  
"Beside the point. She needs an education. I'm surprised at you, John."  
"I--" the Doctor opened his mouth, frowning and about to protest his innocence when he was interrupted.  
"John had nothing to do with it, now get out Mycroft. We'll, no doubt, see you next week when she runs away from that dreadful school again."

Mycroft got into the car and glared at his daughter before tapping the dividing glass with the tip of his umbrella. The car instantly pulled out, beginning it's 3 hours journey back to the school Annabelle was always so keen to leave.

"Why must you always escape?" Mycroft asked after half an hour of awkward silence. Annabelle looked at him, raised an eyebrow and turned back to staring out of the window. He sighed softly. Their relationship wasn't exactly a calm one. In fact, due to his work, they barely saw one another. Annabelle saw this as neglect on Mycroft's part and refused to speak to him.

"Your mother wouldn't approve.." The words caused Anna's jaw to clench, as it always did when anyone brought up her mother. She wanted to scream at Mycroft, tell him he wasn't worthy enough to even mention her mother's name, but she didn't. She remained silent, merely watching as they got closer to her school.

"If this happens again, Mr Holmes, we'll have to expell her." The headteacher frowned, looking over Annabelle who avoided her gaze.  
"I don't think you will."  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Need I remind you who I am, Mrs Osman."  
"No, Mr Holmes." the headmistress straightened up. "Annabelle, get back to your dorm. Spend this afternoon thinking about your actions, and I expect you to be in art class at 9am promptly. You've got a new teacher, let's not give him a bad impression, hmm?"

"I knew that would happen" John had said the minute Mycroft had stormed from the flat.  
"Yes, as did we all, John. But still, she cracked it."  
"What?"  
"The link. Look.." he passed John Anna's paper

Body Number Six. Found at Monument - M  
Body Number Eight. Found on Oxford Street. - O  
Body Number Two. Found on Regent Street - R  
Body Number Four. Found on London Eye. ~~L E~~ \- I  
Body Number Three. Found at Admiralty Arch - A  
Body Number Seven. Found at Russell Square - R  
Body Number Five. Found at Trafalgar Square - T  
Body Number One. ~~Found in Lambeth - L~~ Found on York Street - Y


	4. The New Art Teacher

"He's leaving us a message, it's blatantly obvious.." Sherlock beamed slightly, as he often did when something in a case clicked. It was Moriarty, and it was so obvious that he wasn't sure why he'd not noticed it before. His niece was brilliant, he knew that, and sometimes a crime needed a new set of eyes examining the evidence. Besides, he'd have figured it out eventually, particularly when all the clues had been set. Word play wasn't his favourite clue, however. Using the London Eye as an I.. Moriarty really was a genius.  
Annabelle stared at the ceiling. She'd barely slept the night before, she hardly ever could in this place. She slipped out of bed and glanced out of her window. Eight months before, they'd drilled bars over her window to prevent her escaping by climbing down a sheet-rope after an incident had left her with a broken ankle. Slowly, her school was becoming like a prison to her, and she hated it ever so. She didn't speak to anyone, couldn't speak to anyone. Since the day her mother had been killed, Anna hadn't spoken to anyone apart from Sherlock and, upon occasion, John, though never when Sherlock wasn't there. She preferred silence. She was different to all the other girls, the rich girls who often bragged about what their parents could get them, how powerful their parents were, the special gifts they'd received for their sixteenth birthdays. They never tried to include her, and she didn't care that they didn't. She preferred her own company. It was ironic, she'd realised one morning, that they all competed over who's family was more influential, while she, the daughter of the man running the country, sat in silence. She looked down at the tray of food they'd left for her to eat and picked up a boiled egg, slowly eating the egg white before dropping the yolk back on the tray. She didn't want to eat anything else, but she never did. Food was the only thing she could control in her life, and she often found that not eating was better than the way she felt about herself when she did eat.

She stepped out of the shower, towel-drying her long, dark hair. It fell about her shoulders, curling slightly but not enough to be actual curls. Naturally, it fell somewhere between curly and wavy, but never quite either. Usually by the end of the day, it had become slightly frizzy. She hated it, but never cared enough about her appearance to do anything about it, unless she had somewhere important to be, which wasn't very often. She didn't even bother with make up most of the time. She quickly slipped on a comfortable pair of leggings and her baggiest jumper. She didn't care for the school uniform, and never wore it. She had no interest in looking like an idiot in the hideous black blaiser and pleated skirt combination, and the hat was out of the question. After 5 years of trying, the school had given up on giving her detentions for not wearing it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade as the man continued asking him ridiculous questions.  
"I don't know, Inspector.. But it's definitely Moriarty" the detective handed over the piece of paper Anna had scribbled on, watching as Lestrade's eyes as he read over the words.  
"Why would he bother?"  
"To get my attention?" Sherlock shrugged "Because he was bored, probably.."  
"Innocent people have died because a bored psychopath wants your attention?"  
"Not the first time it's happened.." Sherlock pointed out. "But me being here isn't helping, he'll send me a direct message sooner or later..."

"You're late, Miss Holmes.." the art teacher watched her as she entered the room and made her way towards the back, heading for her usual easel by the large window at the back of the room. She shrugged at her teacher, giving him no word of reply as she sat down. Art was her favourite subject, and her old teacher had liked her, despite Annabelle constantly refusing to paint what the teacher asked for. She much preferred to draw how she was feeling. She pulled out her iPod and ignorantly put her headphones in, glancing at the bowl of fruit in the centre of the room. If he thought she was about to sit sketching fruit for two hours, he had better think again.

Her new art teacher's brown eyes watched her constantly, reading everything about her. She was the perfect prey, and she was going to make such a good little trophy for him. The daughter of the great Mycroft Holmes, niece of the amazing Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Oh yes, he thought, licking his lips slightly, Annabelle Holmes was the perfect prize.

"Good morning, class.." he smiled, moving to the board "My name is Mr Zucco.. but you can call me Jim."


	5. Detention

She felt him behind her, towering over her. His eyes sent chills up her spine, but she kept up her façade. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't remove her headphones to listen to him. She didn't care. Why should she? He was just another boring teacher who, at the end of the day, answered to Mycroft, and Mycroft would do anything to keep her in school. She yearned for this school year to end so she could leave the damn place and never return. Her paintbrush skated delicately over the paper in front of her as she began to colour the image she'd spent the past half hour sketching. Mr Zucco, or whatever his name was, hadn't moved from behind her for the last 15 minutes, and now she was forgetting to care.

He watched her with a smirk, his eyes feasting on her. She wasn't as he'd expected, not really. He'd expected a pampered, spoiled aristocrat who dressed like a tramp and flirted to get the things she wanted. After all, he'd seen Sherlock act in a very similar fashion with Molly Hooper, flattering her for access to the morgue. He'd expected Mycroft Holmes' daughter to be as arrogant as him and his brother. She gave the impression that she was, but Jim knew better. It was all an act, a defence, and one that he could manipulate to draw her closer. He knew of Mycroft's plans to marry her off, make her a pampered princess locked in a tower with her new husband, royalty no doubt knowing Mycroft. Jim planned to ruin that, ruin her reputation and make sure that Mycroft Holmes couldn't improve his power by exploiting the girl. So far, she was proving to be a challenge. The other girls in her art class, the ones who had fitted the stereotype he'd expected, were attempting to flirt with him, trying to flash more flesh than they normally would. Skirts had been pulled up to ridiculously short lengths, pens and pencils were being dropped at fairly regular intervals, and yet he wasn't at all interested. Annabelle Holmes drew his attention by not wanting to be seen at all.

He'd let this go on long enough, he decided. He'd let her control the situation for too long now. Carefully, he leaned forward and pulled one of her headphones from her ear, his lips inches from her earlobe as he whispered softly  
"That doesn't look like a bowl of fruit.. I think we need to move you to the front of the class until you learn to do as you're told.."  
She looked up at him and frowned, slowly replacing the earpiece in her ear before carrying on with her work. Oh excellent, Jim chuckled. With a frown, he violently tugged the wire to her headphones, ripping them from her ears and the iPod, and threw them to the floor. She turned and glared at him, not a sound escaping from her lips though Jim could tell she was thinking a hundred different curses. He smirked, leaning forward once more, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear.  
"I know your sort, Miss Holmes. Daddy in the government, spoiled but neglected. You want his attention, so you act out, but when you get his attention, you remember how much you hate it.. " she could hear the smirk as he spoke, but still didn't reply. She'd never spoken a single word to anyone at this school, why would she start now?  
"I'm sure the other teacher's punish you by telling him, right? Well I'm not like them.. If you don't start to do as you're told, I'll be telling him just how good you've been, how creative you are. You want to be invisible, I'll make you the opposite, I'll make sure that everyone knows your name, and everyone knows just how good you are at art.. Now I won't ask you again.. Move to the front.." His words surprised her, but she found herself getting up from her seat and moving towards the empty seat at the front. She'd come up with some way to get back at him, she was sure. "Oh and Miss Holmes.. Do make sure you return after you finish your lessons... I believe you're meant to have detention when you turn up to classes late..."

The rest of the school day went by relatively uneventfully. He was bored, the students weren't in the least bit interesting and he found himself glad that he'd never gone in to teaching in the first place. He didn't understand why people did. A bunch of idiots teaching other idiots how to waste their lives being boring and ordinary, that was all it was. Boring. Predictable. So incredibly dull. The knock on his classroom door at the end of the day, however, perked him up a little.  
"Come in.." he called out, not looking up as the petite brunette entered the room, closing the door behind her. She stood, waiting for instruction, not wishing to irritate this weird teacher into making her the centre of attention. He glanced up after a short while and motioned at the small table in front of his desk. She sat down, placing her bag under the table and looked at him expectantly.  
"Are you often late to lessons?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her. She shivered lightly, feeling somewhat like a mouse cornered by a large cat, about to be devoured. She nodded in response to his question, and he frowned.  
"This mysterious silent thing doesn't really work for me, Annabelle.. I understand that most teacher's let you get away with whatever you want because they're frightened of your father, but Mycroft Holmes doesn't intimidate me in the slightest, so you can drop the act.." He moved towards her, perching on the edge of her desk. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. A bit too skinny, too untrusting, but beautiful. She refused to look at him, staring instead at the dark wood of the table. Carefully, he reached over and lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. She caught him offguard, her bright blue eyes reminding him of Sherlock and almost throwing him completely.  
"I know what it's like to have a father like Mycroft Holmes.." he lied, his thumb lightly brushing over her skin. "You don't have to pretend with me.."

His eyes drew her in. She didn't know how, or why, but she found herself completely lost within the deep brown hues, completely overwhelmed. He was attractive, she realised, and his word were.. different. He spoke to her like no one else had, treated her like an actual human being and not the daughter of the British Government. Without a word, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

"Oh God, I'm sorry.." she pulled back, biting her lower lip. He raised an eyebrow, the sound of her voice surprising him. He'd expected.. something else, something more like Sherlock or Mycroft. Posh and commanding, not soft and gentle as hers had been. He cupped her cheek gently and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. He wasn't sure why, it wasn't in his character.  
"Don't be sorry.." he whispered softly as he rose from the desk, taking her hand and pulling her up with him. She quickly found herself in his arms, inhaling his scent. He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Making her feel secure, he told himself, making her trust him, that's all this was. A game.

Her eyes met his once more, and he could have sworn he had lost the game already. He pressed his lips to hers again, his eyes closing as he continued to toy with the thick, dark hair that fell down her back. She was soft, and more vulnerable than he knew she'd be and somewhere deep inside of him, James Moriarty felt the need to protect this beautiful, fragile creature. She's a Holmes, he reminded himself, this was a game, he was just toying with the Holmes brothers and she was just the easy way to do it. So why was he still kissing her?

She fell into her bed just after midnight and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And how on Earth had he managed to smash through her defenses so easily, so effortlessly? She'd spoken to him, and not just once. She'd spent hours talking to him, actually talking in a way that she only ever did with Sherlock, or Scarlett, the woman Mycroft had hired to take care of her after her mother had died. No one else had heard her speak for 9 years, with the exception of John Watson and Mrs Hudson when she'd been in Sherlock's company, and even that had taken a while. Mr Zucco had quickly invaded her mind. Jim, she corrected herself, Jim had invaded her mind. She needed to learn more about this man, she decided as she slowly drifted off to sleep.


	6. The Prize

It had been weeks since Annabelle had solved the mystery for Sherlock, and he'd not heard from Moriarty at all. Every single line of enquiry had gone cold and was almost non-existent. It was almost as though he'd gotten completely bored of the game and switched to another one. For John, it was almost like hell on earth, as an incomplete game meant for a very angsty consulting detective.

"What is he playing at?" Sherlock hissed as he slammed down his phone on the desk. There was nothing from Lestrade, nothing from his homeless network. There was nothing. Nothing. He growled in frustration, staring at the wall. Bits of string had been added to the wall, drawing lines between the pictures and written notes. John was completely sure that they added nothing, but Sherlock had simply added them so it looked like he was doing something.  
"I don't know. Just like I didn't know two days ago when you asked. Or every other day that you've asked since the last murder. Sherlock, take another case."  
"But.."  
"Sherlock! You have no other choice. Pretend you're not bothered, and he'll probably start playing again."

Annabelle sat on a desk, watching as Jim marked drawings. After a few minutes, he lifted on in her direction and raised an eyebrow.  
"What do you think of this one?"  
"It's.. I like the use of lightness and shadow to... Oh I can't. It's awful. What is it?"  
"No idea... Sixth form artists. Always trying to give some deep meaning but forgetting to actually make it good..." he raised his gaze and looked at the teen. She was swinging her feet gently, giving no momentum to her actions, but it was oddly hypnotic. His gaze trailed up her legs, resting momentarily on the short denim skirt she'd chosen to wear today. He inhaled sharply, standing up and moving towards her. Her eyes met his, light blue meeting brown, and his fingers moved to rest on her cheek. The look on her face was pure innocence, and he wanted to crush it, and yet, protect it. She stirred feelings within him, feelings that were unwelcome and made him angry. His eyes bore into hers, his face moving closer until he kissed her, fiercely. Her eyes instantly snapped closed as she allowed him to invade her mouth, submitting to his dominant actions, her fingers clenching and unclenching against the wood of the table. He pulled her closer, biting at her lower lip, his eyes remaining open, focussed on her face.

Jim's fingers ran up her thighs, slipping beneath the material of her skirt and brushing against the thing cotton thong she'd put on that morning. Tugging gently at the thin material, he slipped his fingers beneath and sank them into her warmth. Anna gasped softly against his lips, but offered nothing in the way of resistance. His fingers slipped deeper, his thumb brushing over her clit and causing those gasps to turn into gentle moans of pleasure that made him want to claim her right then and there. His lips pulled away from hers, trailing along her jawline and down her neck. He kissed along the edge of the white vest top she was wearing, before kissing his way back to her lips.  
"Anna.." he said softly, his tones hushed and wanting and she opened her eyes to look up to him. "Can.."  
"Yes.." she exhaled softly, nodding her head "Yes..."

He pulled off her thong and slid it down her legs, allowing it to drop on the floor, soon followed by her skirt. He lifted the vest top over her head, unfastening her bra and taking a moment to look at the sight before him. His fingers trailed over her visible ribs, feeling both pity and sadness at how obviously they stuck out beneath her skin. The protective streak opened within him once more and in an attempt to silence it, he kissed her once more, biting down on her lower lip. Her soft moan caught his attention, and he could feel himself getting hard.

Jim's fingers moved to unbutton his trousers, pushing them down with his boxers before pulling her towards him, standing between her legs. She let out a gasp as he pushed into her, eight inches of his hardness entering her in once smooth motion, stretching her uncomfortably and tearing through her hymen, destroying the one thing that Mycroft actually valued. He waited, his hips still as he waited for her to adjust to the stretch of his invading cock.

Fingers moved to her clit, rubbing it lightly until she moaned in pleasure, rolling her head back. Jim pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat as his hips began to move against her, pushing deeper and deeper into her. His eyes watched her, watched as she fell apart in front of his eyes, watched as he destroyed her without her even realising. A smirk appeared on his face, and he leaned forward, biting down on her neck, marking her.

The feeling of pain and soreness began to disappear as he moved within her, pulling out and pushing deep into her, hitting her in places that she wasn't even sure existed. Her fingers moved to his back as he bit down on her neck, gripping at the shirt that he still wore. There was something erotic and dominant about the fact that she was completely naked beneath a half clothed man. Jim's movements became more forceful and possessive, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he came deep within her, his fingers rubbing at her clit until the obvious signs of orgasm washed over her.

Jim pulled out of her and pulled his trousers up, his eyes fixed on her face. Her chest was rising and falling as she struggled to catch her breath, but her eyes met his, watching as his mask slid back into place. He handed her the clothes that were scattered across the floor, minus the thong that he slid into his pocket. She dressed, her eyes studying him, feeling a change of atmosphere within the room.  
"I.." she started, before closing her mouth, unsure what she was actually going to say. "Where's my.."  
"I'm keeping them as a prize. Don't wear underwear around me from now on.." he said, and she straightened up unconsciously, the authority in his voice frightening her.  
"I.."  
"Don't test me, Annabelle.. There's something about you that makes me.. Well.. You'll find out more. Now get back to your dorm."  
"But.." she frowned, utterly confused. A smirk appeared on Jim's face, his eyes dark and dangerous as she looked into them.

"Poor Annabelle Holmes.. Worthless now, aren't you? What will Daddy say now that James Moriarty has deflowered the precious princess?"

Annabelle stared in silence, her eyes widening as she realised she'd been played.


	7. Surrender

Jim sat back in his chair by the fire of his own room, staring blankly at the flickering flames as his fingers toyed with the teenager's thong. There was something about Annabelle that made him want to tear apart the universe, destroying everything to make sure the feeling ended. On the other hand, there was something about her that made him want to take her into his lair, keep her safe and sheltered from the world outside.

He heard a thump behind him and shook his head.  
"I wondered when you'd be arriving."  
"It's been a while.." the soft female voice behind him caused him to raise an eyebrow.  
"Oh he's sent you." Jim spun in his chair, his eyes falling upon the petite red head "What's the matter? Your brother couldn't be bothered to come see his boss himself?"  
"He's busy setting up some adventures for your detective" Sabrina Moran folded her arms, leaning back against Jim's bed. "Why are you still here? It's a pain in the arse getting in that window.."  
"Because.. My plan isn't complete"  
"I thought the point was to deflower the princess and send photos to Daddy Holmes. You did get photos?"  
"No.. The plan has changed."  
"Well nice of you to tell us."  
"I don't have to tell you everything. Now get out. Tell Sebastian to come himself next time."

Three nights had passed since the day Annabelle had lost her virginity to the world's greatest criminal, and she had not left her bedroom since. The door had remained locked and she had not allowed a single person to enter the room. They had left her all weekend, unconcerned about her well-being when they didn't legally have to be. It was now Monday afternoon, and she had skipped four lessons already. No doubt tonight they would remove the door to enter, if she didn't let them in. With a sigh, she picked up her mobile phone and called her uncle, growling in frustration as the call went through to voicemail.

At exactly 6pm, a loud knocking echoed through her room. She sat on the bed, staring, waiting.  
"Anna.." the voice that carried through the wood wasn't the voice she had expected. She had expected the headmistress, or her form tutor, she had not expected Jim Moriarty. Gently, she rose from her position and pulled open the door, looking up into the dark, dangerous eyes of the consulting criminal.  
"What do you want?"  
"Can I come in?" Annabelle stepped aside, allowing him into the bedroom and closing the door behind her, locking it once more.  
"You lied to me." she said after a few moments of staring at him "I trusted you.. and you lied to me. About everything."  
"That's what I do. I destroy. I ruin lives. And then I run away and leave the damage. I'm untouchable. Nobody gets to me."  
"Well that's--"  
"Except you.." he stepped towards her, trapping her between him and the door. She looked up at him, fear in her eyes. He found that delicious.  
"What?"  
"You got to me. I have.. ugh, feelings.." he said with such disgust that Annabelle could have sworn he was talking about something completely different. "On the one hand, you make me want to destroy everything, to pull you apart, cell by cell and erase you from existence.."  
"That doesn't really make me feel better about this.."  
"But then I realise that the only reason I'd want to erase you from existence would be to protect you from it.. I have this overwhelming urge to steal you away. Keep you to myself, loved and protected.." his fingers moved to brush through her hair, and she flinched for a moment before relaxing under his touch. "I want to destroy the world to keep you safe from harm.."

Annabelle pressed her lips to Jim's, her fingers sliding up his neck as she gave herself completely to the man who was the sworn enemy of her father and uncle, knowing in her heart that this was only going to lead to trouble.


End file.
